


Dark Moon Rising

by wearethewitches



Series: Moon Phases [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Complete, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Demigod Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Gods, Magic, Master of Death Harry Potter, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), super cliche but oh well i wanted to write it so i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: One day, Herakles Potter is attacked by a monster.
Series: Moon Phases [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181870
Comments: 22
Kudos: 178





	Dark Moon Rising

If Herakles Potter had anything better to do than teaching ten-year olds how to swim, she would definitely be doing that instead. Kids were evil. Kids were brain-dead monsters. Kids were the _bane of her existence._

‘Why did I take this job again?’ the witch muttered to herself as she dried off her voluminous hair with a towel. Some of her students had tried to drown one of their peers today in their ten minutes of free time and she had to dive in, shoes and all, to stop them from drowning under the foam mat.

Hera’s co-worker, Bronwyn, smiled mischievously as she teased, ‘Because you’re a good person, Hera.’ Bronwyn held out the cheap wall hairdryer, which Herakles reluctantly accepted, as it seemed the towel was too saturated to do much more. Plugging it in, Hera grabbed a nearby brush and winced when it caught on the knotted ends as she pulled it through, from scalp to end.

‘At least I’m getting paid!’ She said over the dryer. Bronwyn laughed, then left the staff changing rooms, abandoning Hera to her styling efforts. It was all Hera could do not to just give up and magic it into submission for an hour, until she could get home to her flat in Chiswick.

But no, she couldn’t do that. There would be questions if she suddenly had perfect hair after the afternoon’s impromptu rescue and Hera felt uncomfortable using notice-me-nots to influence her co-workers. That being said, the gentle jeers she got from the desk receptionists at the community centre for the state of it as she left were reason enough to be done with it all. Hera hated her job—though, she forced herself to remember, she did hate the Wizarding World more.

Journeying home, Hera sighed to herself, walking the long road to her flat, taking a short-cut through a park surrounded by hedgerows. It was only as she neared a copse of trees that a figure shifted in the darkness, eyes glimmering slightly as they looked out on her from behind a great oak.

 _‘Pretty morsel…’_ she heard a hiss, setting her on edge. Hera slowed to a halt, casually summoning her wand behind the cover of her sports bag. The eyes, she realised, weren’t quite natural and as the figure swayed forwards, Hera raised her wand into full view.

‘Stay back,’ she warned them, instincts flaring. _You won’t get out of this one easy, Potter._

Having correctly assumed the creature would attack, Hera was able to use a silent knock-back jinx when they lunged, pale moonlight filtering through the canopy above to illuminate their serpentine features. To Hera’s shock, instead of legs, the creature had a single python’s tail for a lower half, which in hindsight would later make sense, if Hera had heard them speaking in Parsletongue instead of English. She still had trouble telling them apart.

The creature, however, when knocked back merely got back up again, clawed hands outstretched as they screamed, _‘Child of Hecate!’_ When they lunged once more, Hera went on the offensive, this time using an overpowered cutting curse, the red light slashing through the park air to slice open a great gash across the creature’s torso. For a moment, they bled, but then before Hera’s eyes, they turned to golden dust.

Hera stared.

‘…what the _bloody hell was that?’_ She exclaimed in a breath, blood pounding and her heart-rate skyrocketing. Stepping forwards—wand still raised—Hera inspected the golden dust, which had already started to fade, discovering a strange scale nestled in the pile. Crouching, Hera picked it up. The scale was a pale green and the size of her palm, but when she turned it over, there was writing on it in Ancient Greek. Luckily for her, Hera had been forced into joining the Ancient Runes class at Hogwarts by her best friend, Hermione Granger, where they learnt the basics of Latin, Ancient Greek, Hebrew, Ancient Futhark and Aramaic. Hera had always had a knack for Ancient Greek, too, so it took short work to decipher the message.

_To Hera_

_Sorry you had to get rid of this monster, but I can’t hide you anymore from detection, not now my old man is peering closer than usual. I know you’re a fighter and a warrior and I’m so very sorry, but you’re going to need those skills again. The monsters can smell you. Don’t stay in one place too long and don’t get complacent. Find Chiron, Trainer of Heroes. He’ll tell you how to keep yourself safe._

_Love, Uncle_

Unfortunately, obviously it was complete bullshit.

Huffing in annoyance, Hera nevertheless tucked the scale into her bag, knowing that Hermione would want to take a crack at identifying it, if nothing else. Maybe Luna could take a peek and give her thoughts—that would be a fun argument to watch. Hera resigned herself to walking the rest of the way home without any more fun interruptions…

* * *

Had she jinxed herself, or was the Potter Luck just really gunning for her that night?

Eight ‘monsters’ later, Hera had to admit there was something up with all the magical creatures she’d encountered. Barely any of them she recognised from her Care of Magical Creatures class or any DADA lessons and even then, most Hera would probably guess weren’t actually what she guessed they were. And most of them had most definitely wanted to eat her and spoke in an identifiable language, whether that was English, Parsletongue or even Ancient Greek itself.

Something was most _definitely_ not right.

Finally having made it home, Hera didn’t hesitate to pack up her meagre personal possessions into her mokeskin pouch, which Hermione had enchanted with an undetectable extension spell for her nineteenth birthday. With more monster fights and more time to think on her mysterious ‘uncle’ and his letter, Hera had to admit that maybe there was some truth to what he’d said.

The name ‘Chiron’ was bugging her, too. She knew that name, somehow, but she couldn’t remember why.

‘Right. Gather the guys, make a plan, skedaddle,’ she muttered to herself, before summoning Prongs, her patronus guardian. The white stag coalesced into being with a silent huff, pawing at the ground before she instructed him to carry her message. ‘Go to Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Tell them that it’s an emergency and I need them at my place as soon as possible.’

Prongs chuffed, then galloped off into the night. Hera kept her wand in hand, waiting for them all to arrive, still on edge.

Ginny was the first to appear, apparating outside her door and unlocking it with her spare key. The moment she opened it, Hera demanded, ‘What was the first thing you did when we first met in the Burrow, in ninety-two?’

‘Squealed like a pig,’ Ginny replied. ‘Show me Prongs.’

With a flick of her wand, the patronus appeared again, standing guard as Ginny nodded and peered throughout the bare apartment. By the time Hermione and Ron arrived simultaneously, she had already sussed that Hera was on the move. Similarly to Ginny, Hera was forced to ask them security questions, which they answered correctly, Hermione blustering.

‘You’re lucky we had Molly and Arthur there, in case the children woke up. What happened, Hera? Why are we here?’

‘I asked for Luna and Neville, too.’

‘Neville’s in Brazil and Luna is somewhere in Norway,’ Ron chimed in, reminding Hera of their summer plans. Cursing, she directed Prongs to them both, informing them not to panic and end their trips.

‘The rest of the guys are here. We’ll sort it out. Expect more information tomorrow,’ she said, before her patronus once again flew off. Hera hid her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Ginny sidled up close, bumping her with her elbow. ‘Hey. What’s going on?’

Without looking, Hera slid the scale over to Hermione. As her friend studied it intently, she thought of the various other trophies she had scored that evening on what should have been a short walk home. She had golden bronze feathers that could slice through blades of grass with ease from a dozen clockwork birds; scales from three serpent women like the first she had met; scrap metal from what could only have been a cyclops; a pendant that she’d seen around the neck of a vampiric women with a donkey leg and prosthetic, lost when she turned to dust; and even a bunch of magical ribcages, from skeletal warriors who tried to skewer her with bronze spears. Frankly, everything she’d collected was _weird_ and Hera didn’t know what to do. Ergo, summoning her friends to help.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ Hermione muttered. ‘Even if they’re complete insane—I mean, you only have one uncle and he’s the worst sort of muggle—Chiron is a myth. He isn’t real.’

Hera perked up minutely. ‘Wait, you know him?’

‘So should you,’ she scolded in return, beady eyes boring into Hera’s skull. ‘Third year Ancient Runes. Chiron was a centaur from Greek Myth. He supposedly trained Herakles, your namesake, as well as Jason, Asclepius and even Achilles.’

‘Yeah, he’d be long dead,’ said Ron, ‘I mean, if he _was_ real.’

‘You were attacked by something, then,’ Ginny confirms, Hera nodding.

‘Loads of times. I didn’t realise my walk home could take so long. I left work like, two hours ago!’

Hermione taps her wand against the scale, frowning when nothing happens. ‘It’s not reacting to magic. It’s almost impervious…’

‘Well, whatever the creature was, it wasn’t impervious waist-up. I think that came from its tail,’ said Hera, though she wasn’t sure. The colour seemed right, but it was big—almost as big as the scales of the basilisk’s. ‘Or not,’ she corrects herself, concerned, now. ‘It turned to dust when I killed it. I would have called someone to clean it up, if it had stayed, but…’

‘Maybe there’s a new Chiron,’ Ron offered.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Ginny. ‘Ask the centaurs at Hogwarts. They’ll probably know what’s going on.’

Laughing manically—hearing the faint tread of boots outside her door—Hera asked, ‘And what if the monsters chase me there? They’re already here.’

On edge, her wand had already been out and her warning set her friends up for the polite knock that followed. But her instincts were on meltdown and Hera used a hex that flew through solid objects until it found a flesh target, a muffled and somehow animalistic noise of pain coming from outside.

‘That’s not a magical creature,’ Ron said, before they geared up for the oncoming fight.

Hera didn’t smile.

* * *

The Forbidden Forest was darker than usual, despite the full moon above her. Hera trudged through the mossy undergrowth and the sticky mud coating the forest floor, wishing it hadn’t rained the day before as she headed in the direction of the centaur’s territory.

Soon enough, she was joined by a familiar face, Firenze’s palomino coat doing nothing to camouflage him that evening. They walked parallel to each other for a short while, before coming across a small clearing where the dirt and moss gave way to grass. Firenze sat down, folding his legs beneath him as he looked up through a gap in the leaves at the night sky above.

‘You were born on a dark moon,’ he told her as she joined him, sat down in front of him like all those years ago in Divination class. ‘The Lady Artemis was not present at your birth and neither were her handmaidens. Apollo makes a mark on those babes in his sister’s stead—but what mark he gave you was not like the others.’

‘Are you talking about the gods?’ Hera asked, stomach twisting. He talked about them like they were real.

‘Indeed, Miss Potter. The stars aligned at your birth and named you the Chosen One, a Champion of Ares, who might fight a war and win it, but with a cost.’

‘My cost has been paid,’ she rushed to say, but Firenze only nodded.

‘I do not say these things to bring up bad memories, only to remind you of what you were before you came here tonight. Mayhaps you know of another story of your kin, of the one who hid from the Gods’ gaze.’

It was like a bad dream, drawing together all the wildness of her past into one singular nightmare. Hera knew what he was talking about. She knew that somewhere in this forest there was a stone, lost to wizarding kind and the broken pieces of the Elder Wand had burned under Fawkes’ might.

But the Cloak—the Cloak stayed with her.

‘What is past is past, but when it affects out present, we must look back.’ Firenze told her, ‘Now is your time to look back, Herakles Potter, so you might move forwards.’

Gathering the scale, Hera held it out to the centaur, who took it with calm hands, reading the writing with even calmer eyes. When he returned it to her, her blood boiled.

‘I don’t want to fight again. I don’t want to be chased by- by- by _monsters.’_

‘It was inevitable,’ Firenze said. ‘And you do not have a choice. By decree of the God who gave you that prize, your time of anonymity has ended. There have been…’ he stirred, ‘ill tidings, of late. Olympus is in chaos. Something has been stolen from the Council of Olympians.’

‘The Gods,’ Hera croaked, finally remembering her lessons. The twelve Gods of Olympus ruled as a group—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, their sisters and the children of Zeus. ‘What was stolen?’

‘Something powerful,’ Firenze met her eyes. ‘But that is not your destiny. Mars no longer shines when I seek your fate in the skies, Herakles Potter. What you seek is something far more dangerous.’

‘What?’ Hera asked from the shadows. ‘Who is Chiron?’

‘Travel across the Atlantic sea,’ instructed Firenze. ‘You will be found shortly afterwards by Chiron’s nature-folk and only then, Herakles, will you discover what has been hidden from you. I wish you luck, young hero.’

‘I’m not young,’ denied the witch, though she stayed silent at the epithet _hero_.

Firenze shook his long mane of hair, then got to his feet, reaching for the bow strapped to his flank. Hera realised a moment later that the forest had gone quiet.

‘Return to the safety of the school,’ said the centaur, a faint urgency to his voice. ‘You do not have much time.’

‘Thank-you, Firenze—I mean it!’ Hera hissed, before scrambling to her feet, already running as Firenze shot an arrow into the dark. Wand in hand and her heart afire, Hera dove into the woods.

* * *

In all Chiron’s years, he had only seen such a large grouping of monsters around a child of the Big Three. Empousai, cyclops’, dracaena, undead—they made a veritable army altogether and that they chased merely one demigod could only mean bad things.

Accompanied by Argus and two senior campers, Chiron pursued the last Laistrygonian Giant to the end of the Houston alleyway, using his bow and arrow to return them to Tartarus. When the dust settled, he could see his newest charge hanging halfway up a fire-escape ladder, though what he found surprised him.

Older than most demigods he encountered in the wild, the girl was perhaps on the tail-end of teenhood, curly red hair surrounding her pale face like a lion’s mane. From one hand she held what Chiron recognised as a wand— _Blessed by Hecate, oh dear_ —and had no other possessions except a clawed brown pouch chained to her waist. A mulish expression in place upon sighting them, Chiron lowered his bow and called out.

‘We come in peace!’

The English accent, a London variation if he had to guess, was another surprise. ‘How do I know you aren’t monsters, too?’

Eric, one of the senior campers that had accompanied him and a son of Apollo called out cheerily, ‘We’re like you! Woody sent word you needed assistance—where is the guy, anyway?’

The girl scoffed, then pointed at a nearby dumpster. The second camper, Neela, a daughter of Aphrodite, went over with a wrinkled nose and leant over, arm reaching in to haul out a dazed and bloody Woody. Chiron pursed his lips at the sight of the Seeker, concealing his concern for the satyr.

‘Found him,’ said Neela, before the new demigod cautiously climbed down the ladder. When she hit the ground, Chiron recognised her general stance and posture as that of a seasoned fighter, bringing a serious of questions to mind even as he introduced himself.

‘I am Chiron. May I inquire as to whom I am speaking?’

‘Herakles Potter,’ said the girl, nodding politely. ‘People call me Hera.’

Internally wincing, Chiron nodded in return. ‘Miss Potter. It is imperative you return to Camp Half-Blood with us, if only to get behind the wards. I trust you know what those have the power to do.’

She certainly relaxed at the words. ‘Yeah. Are you guys magical, too?’ Herakles questioned the campers, who shrugged noncommittedly. They, along with Chiron, made the decision not to say any more on the matter. Knowing for certain about the Gods would only make her scent stronger.

‘We have a van,’ said Chiron, as Neela helped Woody out of the dumpster. That would make for a smelly ride back to Long Island, for certain. ‘It’s only a block or two away. Are you comfortable joining us?’

Reaching into her fanged purse, Herakles took out what Chiron recognised as a scale of Python. When she handed it to him, Chiron took a moment to inspect it, reading the message with a certain trepidation.

‘Ah,’ he said aloud. Inside, he was cursing rather voraciously. ‘Do you know much else of your lineage, Miss Potter?’

‘I don’t know what you mean about lineage,’ she said, ‘but Firenze, a centaur I know, he said I was a Champion of Ares. A monster said something about Hecate, too.’

Eric blinked rapidly. ‘Wait, really? That explains the wand. Do you have magic?’

‘Yeah.’ Curious, Herakles asked him, ‘Are you a muggle who knows about magic?’

‘I’m something else—same as Neela,’ Eric gestured to the daughter of Aphrodite. ‘We’ll explain things at Camp. It’s not safe to talk out in the open like this. We should get going.’

‘Agreed.’ Chiron nodded, looking to their new charge. ‘Miss Potter?’

She hesitated only briefly before nodding, agreeing to join them. Swiftly, Chiron led the group of teens back to where Argus kept the van running, the many-eyed being getting a once-over from Herakles before she jerked and looked again.

‘…what the hell?’

Argus grinned at her, then drove.

Only when they were on the main highway back towards New York—and Long Island—did Chiron address Herakles again.

‘Now we are in a moving vehicle, if I may, where did you reside prior to this? England?’

‘Yeah,’ nodded the girl, who fiddled with her seatbelt strap self-consciously. ‘What do you know of magic?’

‘I know that there are secret communities,’ Chiron replied, noting how Neela and Eric ‘casually’ listened in. He tapped his wheelchair. ‘I myself employ an illusion magic called the Mist to walk amongst humankind. Outside of this chair, I am a centaur.’

Herakles snorted, muttering, ‘Walk.’

Chiron grinned at her humour. ‘Indeed. You have had contact with my brethren before, then? Centaurs are not a new concept to you.’

‘There’s a tribe in the Forbidden Forest, beside my old school. Firenze, he even taught us Divination, to read the stars.’ Herakles said, ‘He was the one to tell me to come to the USA.’ Her lip twitched. ‘Can’t believe that was two days ago.’

Chiron’s grin faded as he asked to confirm, ‘You arrived here yesterday from the United Kingdoms?’ At her nod, Chiron looked over her shoulder to Argus. ‘Step on it, Argus.’

Muttering to Neela, Eric asked, ‘What does that mean? How is her scent so strong?’ Chiron decided to answer.

‘Miss Potter has been hidden from monsters her whole life, but also has had the luck of being blessed by Hecate and Ares. Whatever magics were at work released what I suspect to be a build-up of over a lifetime’s worth of demigod scent.’

‘She’s fucked, then,’ said Neela bluntly, taking out her kopis sword. Chiron had to admit, he too was feeling the overwhelming urge to ready his weapons.

‘How old are you?’ Eric asked her, also arming himself, but with his knife instead of his bow. But what should have been an easy question, Herakles refused to answer, only paling further as she gripped her wand tightly.

‘It’s not important,’ she said, sucking in a short breath. ‘So- so these blessings make me stink. Monsters can track me.’

‘Yes,’ Chiron affirmed, watching the outside world blur. Argus was activating the special features on the van, then. Chiron couldn’t help his annoyance at the idea. He’d never be able to get back to Yancy Academy on time if Argus couldn’t drive him—and he wouldn’t risk that, not if Argus was using the special features. Chiron refused to put Percy in any more danger than he was already in.

‘So,’ Herakles hesitated, ‘The Gods are real, then.’

‘Let’s wait until we get back to Camp to have that conversation,’ interrupted Eric.

‘Yeah,’ said Neela. ‘It’ll only make your scent worse, the more you know.’

‘Great!’ Herakles exclaimed sarcastically, before curling up in her seat, a brooding expression in place. For some reason, the sight of it created a great foreboding in Chiron and he questioned it, wondering why. The amount of demigods he had trained over the years made him highly suspicious over the most random of behaviours, often inherited or shared amongst their extended godly family.

 _Now,_ he thought, _if only I could figure out who that frown belonged to…_

Their luck ran out twenty minutes later, when another car rammed into them, sending the van flying off the road, right into a thicket. Chiron gathered the Mist with a heavy hand, completely hiding the accident from mortal eyes, acutely aware of his limitations while stuck in his wheelchair. Even if he wanted to leave it, he would be in a vulnerable position and would possibly harm his charges with his panicked flailing.

Chiron was not afraid to admit that he disliked small spaces.

Eric took point, peering out of the small van windows onto the highway. ‘There’s a truck,’ he said, sounding grim. ‘It stopped on the layby. Looks like cyclops’.’

‘One-eyed freaks,’ muttered Neela, before Argus popped open the hidden cache of weapons behind the driver’s seat. Chiron brought out his bow and arrow, twisting in his chair as much as he could to get a good view. As Neela raided the stash, instructing Herakles on which weapons would do the most damage to the cyclops’, Chiron spied said monsters out of the window.

‘Seven,’ he counted, astonished that a proverbial nest would come out into the open so easily.

‘Just how strong is her scent, sir?’ Eric queried, scanning the horizon. His eyes stopped on something out in the green. ‘Chiron, we’ve got incoming on all sides. Looks like an ambush.’

Just then, Herakles cut into Neela’s explanations, ‘I have magic—and I know how to wield it! Stop trying to give me a damn sword!’

‘That _damn sword_ might save your life!’ Neela snapped. ‘Monsters can be impervious to anything, including your little charms.’

‘I can do more than just change the colour of their hair,’ said Herakles scathingly, before she opened one of the doors. Chiron attempted to call her back, but she stomped outside and planted herself in the dirt, tracing a sigil in the air. Only Chiron’s deep learning granted him the knowledge that she was using Corachol, an ancient Aztec language, to presumably cast a spell of some kind.

That ‘spell of some kind’ turned out to be an area of effect enchantment, turning the grassy earth to sludge, a wet bog forming beneath the cyclops’ feet. They sank immediately and it took all Chiron’s power to keep the nearby highway of mortals from seeing what happened. Eric and Neela meanwhile began firing pot-shots at the monsters on the other side of them.

Chiron watched as Herakles set her wand into the ground, the rune following her and imprinting itself into the dirt. It was as impressive as it was dangerous. When the rune began to glow a faint green, Herakles wasted no time before firing off various curses, red lines appearing on each of the cyclops. They wailed—they weren’t dead, not yet—but Herakles was unmoved.

Whatever God sent Herakles that scale, Chiron realised, knew exactly what kind of warrior they were releasing on the world and they had no doubt, just as Chiron had now, that she would be able to defend herself.

_We have to get to Camp Half-Blood, sooner rather than later._

* * *

Somehow, Hera forgot that she wanted to quit her job. Somehow, she forgot that the main reason she hated it was because kids are monsters.

 _Somehow,_ Chiron forgot to mention that this ‘Camp’ was primarily for children aged ten to eighteen years old.

‘I am not living in that Cabin,’ said Hera in a firm voice the moment she returned to the ‘Big House’, as they called it. ‘No offence,’ she added, still not sure if whichever god owned that cabin would be insulted or not.

Mr. D, supposedly Dionysus, God of Wine, Debauchery and Other Party-Related Things, looked over his hand of cards at her. ‘And where do you think you’d stay otherwise?’ he said in a neutral voice.

Hera pulled a tent out of her mokeskin pouch.

‘The harpies won’t like it,’ the God warned, before looking away, Chiron at the table sighing and looking at Hera apologetically.

‘The Cabins are safer than anywhere else in Camp, despite our unique protections. The woods _do_ still have monsters within, for training purposes and I’m currently away during weekdays. I can’t assure your safety, Miss Potter.’

‘I’m an adult,’ returned Hera evenly, disguising how she felt about sticky children and awkward teenagers, ‘and I don’t feel comfortable sleeping near children. I’ll take my chances with the monsters. I can set my own wards up around the tent, if you’re concerned.’

Chiron’s expression reminded her of Remus, willing to use his authority but hesitant to overstep. Hera knew she could make the decision easier for him, but admitting the facts she’d been denying so long felt like defeat.

‘I could always expand the space,’ Hera offered instead as an alternative. ‘Make it bigger on the inside. The kids would have more room and I could separate off an extension for the older kids and myself.’

That only made Chiron frown, saying cautiously, ‘I’m not sure Lord Hermes would appreciate your modifications.’

‘Could I do it in his name?’ Hera asked, feeling awkward. ‘I’m not going to be here forever, but the expansion charms don’t rely on the caster. They’d be there until they were dismantled or otherwise sabotaged.’

‘Hm,’ Chiron looked to Mr. D. ‘Would that be appropriate? We’ve not had this sort of offering before.’

Mr. D didn’t look up from his cards as he grunted, ‘Right wording.’

‘I see,’ said Chiron agreeably, though when he turned back to Hera, he seemed unnerved. ‘While it may be on the nose to enchant Cabin Eleven for your own purposes, it would most likely be appreciated by the campers in the long run. Just remember to consecrate it in Lord Hermes’ name, Miss Potter.’

‘Sure,’ Hera agreed, before shortly returning to said Cabin. Finding Luke, the Cabin’s head counsellor, Hera called out to him. ‘Hey.’

Luke looked up from the work he was doing—some kind of maths, which Hera stayed far, far away from after her disastrous fifth year exam—and raised an eyebrow that stretched the nasty scar over his eye. ‘What’s up, ‘Kles?’

That was another thing Hera noticed. That no-one called her Hera. Something to investigate, she decided.

‘I got permission to expand the Cabin a bit with magic,’ she told him, gesturing to the jam-packed space full of bunks and belongings. There were sleeping bags stuffed under beds alongside suitcases and broken drawers, bags packed with clothes left on top of covers due to lack of space. ‘Only problem is, I need to empty out the room first.’

Luke immediately took on an aghast expression. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘Nah,’ Hera shook her head. ‘It’ll take me about ten minutes to do it, but nothing can be inside the space while I’m doing it.’

‘How long does it last?’

‘Until the schemata is broken down,’ she explained, grimacing at the idea of it snapping. ‘I’ll have to ward it. Don’t want anyone trying to meddle with it and accidentally squishing everyone and everything into the original floorplan.’

Running a hand through his hair, Luke asked in a quiet voice, ‘And all you need is everything emptied out. Okay. Okay, we can do that. I-’ he cut himself off, causing Hera to look at his curiously, but Luke didn’t say anything else, just rubbing his chin in thought.

‘…well, I didn’t want to disturb everyone’s shit,’ she said cautiously, ‘but I had a feeling it’ll take some work to get everything in and out, once I’m done.’

‘How much extra space are we talking?’

‘Up to a hundred times to floorspace,’ Hera replied, ‘but I thought about just doing about six times, maximum. I can’t create extra walls or anything, so they’ll have to be brought in individually. I’d recommend drapes, in case someone does end up breaking the schemata. Wizarding space is usually left a bit empty, just in case of accidents.’

‘We can do drapes,’ Luke agreed, ‘Maybe some folding changing doors. How about air-con?’

‘I could set something up, but it wouldn’t be today,’ she told him. Luke asked her a few more questions before finally agreeing to get it all done in that moment, grabbing a megaphone from inside a bright orange box.

Grinning at her, saying, ‘Cover your ears,’ Luke walked Hera out to the front porch, then turned the megaphone on. When he brought it to his mouth, Hera could immediately tell the thing had been improved upon magically, because the volume was epically loud.

She felt glad she’d covered her ears.

 _‘ **ANNOUNCEMENT FROM LUKE CASTELLAN! ALL CABIN ELEVEN CAMPERS TO THE CABIN! I REPEAT, ALL CABIN ELEVEN CAMPERS COME TO THE CABIN! AND ANYONE ELSE WHO’S WILLING TO DO SOME HEAVY LIFTING! AND WHOEVER’S IN CHARGE OF CARPENTRY RIGHT NOW! ONE LAST TIME FOR THE DEAF AND HARD OF HEARING—ALL CABIN ELEVEN CAMPERS TO THE CABIN!** ’_ Luke shouted, the noise reverberating through the valley. Hera let out a startled laugh, watching as the various demigods and other magical beings throughout the open space in the middle of the half-moon of cabins startled.

Luke turned the megaphone off. ‘Present from our Dad, a couple of summers ago,’ he told her. ‘We get a new one every so often. Chiron keeps confiscating them whenever they get used in jump-scares.’

‘I can see why,’ said Hera, watching as the valley became an ant-hive, over three dozen kids scurrying home. There were others who came, too, most likely to watch, who stayed back as the Cabin Eleven campers came to group up in front of the porch.

‘Hey Luke, what’s going on?’ asked one boy from a set of twins. Hera hadn’t stayed long enough to get many introductions off past Luke and a friend of Eric’s called Jess, so she didn’t know their names.

Luke nudged Hera. ‘New camper here is going to make some magic on the Cabin to get us more breathing room, but we need everyone to get their stuff out, bed and furniture included.’

‘Ooh,’ said the other twin, who shared a grin with his brother before a younger, dark-haired girl spoke directly to Hera.

‘Deana Sorrow, daughter of Hecate,’ she introduced herself, sounding sceptical, ‘What kind of magic are you going to use to make it bigger?’

‘Undetectable expansion charm,’ Hera replied. ‘NEWT-level magic.’

Deana still seemed unconvinced. ‘What do newts have to do with it?’

‘It’s a British magical exam,’ she explained, using her instructor voice and knowingly quoting Hermione, verbatim. ‘The NEWTs, or Nastily Exhaustive Wizarding Tests, are advanced magical practitioner exams used in the United Kingdom after seven consecutive years of study at a magical academy or school. OWLs, or the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, are the precursor exams taken after five years and unlike NEWTs, are mandatory according to the British Ministry of Magic.’

‘What did you get on your NEWTs?’ Deana demanded. ‘This is our home—why should we let you meddle with it?’

‘Deana,’ Luke chastised, but Hera met her word for word.

‘I didn’t do my NEWTs. I was too busy fighting a war. If you don’t want me to mess with your cabin, stop me. The only thing you’ll get is me living in a tent, because I’m not willing to sleep in there when it’s already packed to the max.’

Faltering, Deana didn’t reply, the other residents of Cabin Eleven surging forwards in a pack to the doors. Hera stayed out of the way as the campers retrieved their belongings and evicted the furniture, some of which broke halfway through their journeys outside.

‘This why you wanted me here?’ asked a tall, muscled girl, who eyed one of the broken beds with a startled expression. ‘Didn’t realise your Cabin needed so much TLC, Castellan.’

Luke, smile strained, shrugged like it was nothing. ‘We get a lot of campers.’

‘I’ll get an triple-max order of beds through Arts and Crafts,’ she promised him, leaving soon after with a small group of the watchers. At the Big House, Hera could see Chiron and Mr. D watching the entire debacle and she wondered if this had come up before, but no-one had been willing to make it happen. Maybe they were scared of the Gods.

Drawn out of her thoughts by Luke half an hour later, Hera inspected the gutted innards of the Cabin, vanishing stray sweet wrappers and lint. The floor was pock-marked and scraped, stained in places from things Hera didn’t want to imagine. Recalling Mrs Weasley’s lessons in house-hold charms, she conjured three mops and water, letting them scrub away at the floor, walls and even the ceiling.

‘Wow,’ Luke said from the doorway. ‘It’s a mess.’

‘I don’t want to expand dirt,’ Hera replied, joining him so as to get out of the way of her own mops, who didn’t care whether it was the floor or her boots they were cleaning. ‘This might take a bit longer than ten minutes.’

‘Hey, it’s not bother,’ he said, peering down at her. ‘So, fought a war, huh?’

‘Yeah, years ago.’ Seeing a few places in need of a repairing charm, Hera carefully aimed and fired, fixing cracks in the plaster and the boarded-over window. Presumably, the glass had been smashed in an accident…from the outside? Hera wrinkled her nose. ‘How did they break the window?’

Luke coughed, trying to conceal a laugh. ‘Sorry, but, uh—that was one of the Cabin Five campers. Got a bit angry with one of my sisters and sent a flashbang through the window in the middle of the night.’

‘Cabin Five?’ Hera struggled to remember who that cabin belonged to.

‘God of War,’ reminded Luke. Immediately, Hera wondered if she’d be welcomed there, too. She was Ares’ Champion, right?

A strange itching sensation came across her neck, then, all her hair standing on end. The breeze blew across her face and it smelt like copper. _No,_ Hera got the impression. She would _not_ be welcome in Cabin Five—and that immediately pissed her off.

Flicking her wand, she determinedly repaired what structural damage she could clearly see, then took a look at the lights. There was only two, throughout and that both solved and created problems. Solved, because Hera wouldn’t have to worry about shorting anything major out and created, because one of the lights was centred and the other attached to the wall above where Luke’s desk had been.

‘Your office is going to have to be in the same place,’ Hera informed him, before banishing her magical cleaning crew. Starting with the door, she only briefly paused to think about what language to use before deciding that _maybe_ Ancient Greek would be best, inscribing the word for _door_ at each corner, tying them together with straight line over the doorframe and floor.

‘Why are you writing ‘door’ on the door?’ Luke questioned, clearly perplexed.

‘Because the spell needs to know where the exit is, or you’ll have an expanded space you can’t access,’ told Hera. ‘I’ll write the same on the windows. Weird things will happen if I don’t and someone tries to climb through.’ She remembered enchanting the shed in Hermione’s back yard and making that same mistake. Rose had to go to St Mungos to be shrunk back down to the right size, though Hera’s pretty sure Ron made her taller on purpose.

Clearly suspecting a story behind that, Luke asked, ‘What kind of weird?’

Hera smiled a little, but didn’t answer, moving onto the four windows in the Cabin, two on the front and two on the back. When that was done, she walked around the Cabin with her wand against the wall to get the approximate shape, then made a miniature on the floor, marking where the doors and windows were. All she had to do afterwards was create an identical set of marks outside of the first miniature, but bigger.

‘If this is how big the Cabin really is,’ she said to Luke, who still stood in the doorway, ‘how much bigger should I make it?’ Expanding it slowly, she waited for Luke to say _yay,_ who took a bit too long to do so in her opinion.

‘Uh, there. Maybe a bit bigger?’ he asked, eagerness apparent. Hera obliged, forcing herself to remember this was for Hermes and his Cabin’s residents.

‘Okay,’ she said, before affirming the new floorplan. The rush of magic was more of a torrent than the usual splash, causing Hera to blink dark spots from her vision, but it was done.

Double-checking her work before exiting, Hera at last-minute cast a spell on the wooden floor, making it permanently unbreakable. The Cabin was raised up from the ground—who knew what would happen if anyone tried to burrow through. Kids were weird. She did the ceiling, too, for good measure. And the walls.

‘What now?’ Luke asked.

‘Now I get out, we shut the door, then re-enter,’ said Hera, before doing just that. Luke’s gobsmacked look was funny, but not something she was interested in at that moment, instead more curious as to how there were more lights in the ceiling.

 _I didn’t do that,_ she thought uneasily, but hid her concern as Luke stepped forwards.

‘This is amazing,’ he said, voice broken. He stared at the Cabin like it was a miracle—and maybe to the muggle-like demigods, it was.

Hera cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘Yeah, well…you can put your stuff back in, now. Get some beds and drawers. Furniture.’ Seeing that Luke wasn’t about to answer her anytime soon, she turned back to the chaos outside the cabin, speaking to the waiting demigods. ‘All done, guys—get your beds back in, first.’

‘Cool!’ Someone shouted, before a wave of campers nearly barrelled her over. Hera stumbled to the side, watching through the windows as the wows began, some of the younger kids screeching manically. Some started running around like lunatics.

‘Wow,’ Deana said, looking through the window like Hera to avoid the deluge. ‘You really did it. My mom must have made you really powerful…’

‘I went to one of the best schools in Europe,’ Hera told her quietly, beneath the happy screaming. ‘It wasn’t always fun and games, but I had good friends and better teachers. You said you were a daughter of Hecate—does that mean you have magic, too?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘but not like this. We don’t use wands, not all the time. Some of us can’t do a lot, either. I can control the Mist—Chiron’s teaching me—but my brother, Jake, he can’t. All demigods are different. You’re blessed, a witch…’ Deana looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, before she said, ‘But you’re a legacy, too. Blessing on blessing, from your parents. It makes it easier for you to use all sorts of magic. I learnt that in a book my mom sent me, last week. Maybe she knew you were coming.’

‘The Mist,’ Hera recalled, ‘That’s illusion magic, right? Charmwork, basically.’

‘Sorta.’

‘Well, this was a charm, classically speaking,’ said Hera, running a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught in knots. ‘Runework was involved to make the illusion solid, real. To do stuff like this, you just need some magical theory to understand what you’re doing, so you don’t make mistakes. Big mistakes mean big consequences, but- but I mean…’

Hera was awful at this.

‘You could do this one day,’ she said instead, gesturing to the cabin. ‘It’ll just take you a bit of time and confidence. If you’re good with the Mist, you’re good with this.’

‘Really?’ Deana’s voice was small, but her eyes were bright.

‘Definitely,’ affirmed Hera, not expecting the hug to follow. She jerked, then stilled, letting Deana get her moment in before she let go, grinning.

‘Thanks, Klees!’

‘It’s Hera-’ she started, but Deana was already running off to help someone carry a bunk-bed inside. Hera pursed her lips, muttering, ‘Hera. Just Hera. Why won’t anyone use my name?’

Above, thunder rumbled.

* * *

The arrival and claiming of Percy Jackson neatly overrode whatever ‘cred’ Hera had amongst the campers, as a child of the Big Three was a game-changer in the demigod world. Apparently, Zeus, Hades and Poseidon had all sworn unbreakable oaths—that weren’t so much as unbreakable so much as cursed—to never again sire another demigod child, oaths which both Zeus and Poseidon had broken. However, Poseidon’s son was the only one ever to make it to Camp Half-Blood.

The kid was a natural at sword-fighting and a lot of water-based sports, which, son of Poseidon, go figure. It took Hera too long to realise he was the demigod equivalent of her, when she first entered the Wizarding World and after that, she stopped watching him, instead focusing on her own skills. Having never been to summer camp before, Hera delighted in actually getting to do the various activities, though was less inclined whenever her age made certain activities feel juvenile or vice versa, when the demigods in the camp were doing things meant for adults.

Like climbing lava rock-climbing walls. _Lava rock-climbing walls._ If Hermione saw them, she’d have a fit and probably be apoplectic with rage if she discovered children actually used them on a regular basis.

Nevertheless, Hera did enjoy herself, but felt emotionally left out. She was older than the majority of the campers and it took its toll. Only joining Mr. D for his pinochle games whenever Chiron was busy made up for the lack of fellow adults inside the boundary lines.

‘Other demigods would be more afraid,’ he grunted one day in early June, half a week into Percy Jackson’s quest for the Master Bolt. ‘Are you dumb, or just stupid?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hera answered honestly, staring at her cards. ‘I have a different perspective from most, makes things difficult to process. My interactions with gods so far have been limited to yourself and my mysterious ‘uncle’, who hasn’t exactly been very forthcoming.’

Mr. D snorted. ‘Whoever he is, he broke the Ancient Laws. We’re not meant to interfere with mortal matters.’

‘Maybe it’s to do with the prophecy,’ Hera admitted reluctantly, not wanting to bring it up, but knowing it may have been relevant. Without Chiron there to interrupt their conversation, Hera might actually get a different answer to the usual.

At her words, Mr. D barked, ‘Prophecy?’

‘I was subject to a prophecy made by Sybil Trelawney,’ said Hera, ‘It made a Dark Lord hunt me down as a baby, fail, then hunt me down again when I was a teenager a couple of times. I fought a war against him and won.’

‘Hm,’ Mr. D grunted, putting down his next card. Hera returned the favour, making a vein in his temple throb as her play was revealed. ‘You think someone protected you because of a prophecy?’

‘Makes sense, doesn’t it? I was marked from fifteen months old,’ Hera traced her old, faded scar. ‘He tried to kill me and failed. Same thing happened the night I defeated him. I’ve cheated death twice.’

His reaction was different that time.

Purple eyes met her own and Mr. D seemed to reach out and touch her mind, flipping through it like the pages of a book. Whatever Severus Snape had to say about legilimency, it never would have compared to what Mr. D did in that moment. It lasted until the moment she saw the train station again, when something dark within her chest rose and roared, depositing Mr. D fifty feet away, blasting him through the walls of the Big House.

Left frozen in her chair, Hera stared at the disgruntled God, who got to his feet and strangely, seemed all the more viciously excited for it as he returned to their table.

He slapped down his pinochle cards.

‘I win,’ he said, grinning with yellowed teeth. ‘I’ll see you at the summer solstice council, Harriet Potts. You’ll be there if you know what’s good for you.’

Turning away from her, Mr. D disappeared into the Big House, leaving Hera sat alone on the deck, staring at the large, Dionysus-shaped hole in the building. Something creaked. It took a few moments of proverbial white noise before her brain rebooted and Hera got to her feet, making a beeline for somewhere that was decidedly _not_ the Big House.

Knowing her luck, they’d find out it was her fault anyway—but, oh well.

* * *

Apollo, God of the Sun, came in his chariot to pick her up.

‘Yo, Chosen One!’ He grinned, pushing his sunglasses up onto his beach-blonde hair. He looked beautiful, unlike Dionysus, more than half the buttons of his pale blue collared shirt undone. It revealed a handsome chest, which Hera briefly ogled at before she turned her gaze on the bright red convertible he was driving.

‘…hey,’ she greeted, distracted. Hera had gotten a letter the day before through Hermes Express saying he’d be coming over. ‘I thought the sun chariot was an actual chariot.’

‘It can be, but you know magic,’ Apollo shrugged, before snapping his fingers. The passenger-side door opened. ‘Time to go. I don’t want to be late for my father’s council—he’s still spitting mad at Poseidon for the whole Bolt affair.’

‘How is Percy doing? Do you know?’ Hera asked, skirting around the front of the vehicle to get in, deftly ignoring the multiple demigods staring at them. It wasn’t every day a God visited Camp Half-Blood.

Apollo went _meh,_ before saying vaguely, ‘He’s on his way to New York.’

‘That’s something, at least,’ said Hera lightly, wondering if the kid and his friends were alright. He took a daughter of Athena and a satyr, if she was remembering that right. ‘So…where are we going?’

‘Olympus.’ He said, before revving the engine of the sun chariot convertible and driving forwards, using an extra gear-shifter to change their upwards trajectory. Soon, they were soaring through the air, high in the sky and Hera couldn’t help but lean up, closing her eyes as the winds battered against her face.

Apollo laughed beside her, then gently pressed down on her shoulder. Hera had only a second longer to enjoy the open air before he spoke again in a much more serious voice.

‘They know I hid you.’

Like she’d been thrown in an ice-bath, Hera’s exhilaration faded, replaced with dread. Apollo pressed a button, which brought the convertible roof up, encasing them inside the car. Another press of a button had them driving on autopilot, Apollo turning in his seat to face her—suddenly sat in a spinny chair more suitable to an office. A look down saw Hera in the same sort, the inside of the car more in line with the interior of an aeroplane cockpit.

‘We don’t have much time,’ the God told her. ‘This is a seat of my power, so nothing can interfere. You’re more than just blessed, prophesised or a champion, Herakles Potter.’

‘Then what am I?’ Hera asked, his cool fervour telling her exactly how dangerous their conversation was. And of course, it was then that she saw the multitude of scales identical to her own in the driver’s side-door, many with scribbled out messages, clearly early drafts of the final copy.

Apollo looked older as he replied, wrinkles by his eyes and a heaviness to his brow. ‘Let me be clear when I say this: you were born to mortals. You are the blood daughter of James Potter and Lily Evans. However,’ he paused, breathing in deeply, ‘your mother had friends in dark places. At least one took advantage of her, gifting her an object of immense power while she was curious and ignorant.’

‘My mother?’ Hera couldn’t help but interrupt, the new information sending her into a tizzy. ‘Lily?’

‘Yes, Lily,’ Apollo confirmed again. ‘Don’t interrupt.’

‘Sorry.’

He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a very human gesture of frustration. ‘She was curious,’ he said, ‘and brilliant as she was naïve. You were conceived like any other, but the power she awoke in the object was beyond her understanding. It latched onto you and became a part of you, where it might have killed her, if she had been there alone.’

‘What sort of power was it?’ Hera pestered.

The God put on a look of contrived annoyance, but a smile tugged at his lips. ‘Divine. Godly. You can’t access anything from it, by a stroke of bad timing. Firenze told you that you were born on a dark moon, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that would be why,’ said Apollo, although Hera didn’t know what he meant by it. ‘I dare not tell you more, except this: the moment she sees you, she’ll know. You’re a part of her.’

Hera’s heart leapt into her throat. For once, she wasn’t stupidly oblivious—the perks of being an adult—but she couldn’t say anything more than, ‘Her?’

A smile bloomed across his face, like the dawning sun. ‘Her!’ Apollo exclaimed, leaning forwards to press their foreheads together. He was so _warm_ and his hands rested on her cheeks like she was something precious. ‘Oh, I hope she loves you, Herakles. I hope she treasures you.’

‘Will she destroy me?’ Hera whispered.

Apollo in turn said, ‘I hope not.’ It was a prayer and for a little while, they sat there, together. Hera tried not to think about what Apollo was not saying, figuring it was for her own protection, but her mind span anyway. Everything he said was crystallising—a single theory spinning out and out, until Hera was convinced of the only possible answer.

Eventually, Apollo pulled back, returning to manually piloting the sun chariot. It was a convertible again by the time they touched down on a marble runway, another god stepping in to drive the chariot away into a nearby garage as Apollo led her through Olympus. The city was glorious and packed full to the brim.

‘Solstice celebrations are the best!’ Apollo said cheerily, returned to his youthful visage. Hera couldn’t help but remember Tonks, who could switch between appearances with ease.

 _Teddy can too,_ she reminded herself.

Apollo treated her to a few delicacies sold at the market stalls, like nectar-fried lamb and a _‘I VISITED OLYMPUS!’_ keyring made of celestial bronze, which Hera attached to her set of keys for Hermione and Ron’s house and the fob for her flat. Apollo also got her a replica model of his sun chariot, which was apparently some kind of nightlight—Hera wasn’t quite sure.

‘I’m stalling, I’ll admit,’ he said, ‘but collecting you is my one reprieve before they gang up on me for hiding you.’

‘I was dealing with the consequences for that,’ Hera said, as if to excuse him a little. What she’d heard of the Ancient Laws and other Greek myths meant she was wary of what might be rained down on her by the Olympian Council and likewise, on Apollo. Her uncle smiled at her again, but this time it was fake.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he lied, before finally leading her up to the acropolis.

Apollo did go in first, instructing Hera to give it a minute before entering and she did, waiting patiently. Her blood didn’t buzz with adrenaline. Her heart didn’t pound inside her chest. Nope. She waited patiently.

When the doors opened on their own, Hera took that to mean she could finally enter.

Inside was large, humungous. It put the Great Hall of Hogwarts to shame. Hera wouldn’t be surprised if half of Hogwarts could fit into the palace and as she stepped forwards towards the council, she realised why.

Instead of the height of average humans, the Olympians were giants—literally. They would tower over Hagrid, perhaps even walk toe to toe with the giants of the Wizarding World. Each God wore different finery, many fit for the modern day, but others still wore chitons and tunics, armed with ancient weapons—some of which, like a certain trident, glowed with magical power. Not all seemed to be present, though, so Hera counted.

_Seven._

Irony really existed to laugh in her face.

Approaching the set of thrones warily, Hera sought out Apollo, discovering him sat next to a bored-looking teenage girl. With the same coloured hair as Hera, she had one knee brought up against her chest—a knee that dropped as the Goddess laid eyes on Hera for the first time.

Hera forced herself to look away, stopping just before the invisible line between the last two thrones, on one of which sat Dionysus. He looked better than when he was at Camp Half-Blood, a glass of something deep purple in hand as he surveyed her calmly. Hera gave him a brief nod, then knelt in front of the Olympians.

‘So,’ said Zeus, static crackling across his arms as he stared at her. ‘You are the demigod Apollo hid from the eyes of all.’

‘He broke the Ancient Laws,’ a dark-haired Goddess stated, voice brooking no argument. She sat near Zeus and dressed like a corporate lawyer, suit and all, stern visage set to give Hera the heebie-jeebies. She continued to say, ‘He must be judged.’

‘I’m not arguing with that,’ grumbled Zeus, still looking at Hera warily. Maybe he disliked her because she shared a name with his wife. Hera suddenly realised just how strange it was to—presumably—be in the same room as her partial namesake.

A God, who Hera thought was most likely Poseidon, leant forwards and asked her, ‘You are Herakles Potter?’

Knees starting to go numb, Hera nodded, using a respectful voice as she replied, ‘Yes, sir.’ Then her mouth ran away with her. ‘I’d usually say to call me Hera, but I think it would be a bit odd, considering the situation.’

Amazingly, the Sea God cracked a smile. ‘Yes, it would be. Lucky for us, my dear sister has taken a break from our business for the moment. Speak freely, young Herakles.’

‘Thank-you.’ Hera grinned.

‘What I want to know,’ chirped the seventh Goddess, ‘is why you’ve never had that hair properly taken care of!’

Hera looked at her and when she did, it was like Tonks on fast-forwards, none of her features settling. Hera swore she saw Ginny at one point and at least three actresses, before she finally settled into one image—looking uncomfortably like Andromeda and Tonks put together, but with vibrant turquoise hair. It took too long for Hera to realise she was seeing some strange, grown-up female version of Teddy.

‘My hair is fine,’ she said with gritted teeth.

The Goddess pouted, but Apollo threw a shoe at her and she shrieked, throwing it right back.

‘Herakles, meet Aphrodite,’ Apollo introduced. ‘What love of your life does she happen to look like to you? It’s a special trick of hers.’

Aphrodite glowered at Apollo, then said tartly, ‘It isn’t the love of her life, it’s her son.’

‘Godson,’ Hera corrected quietly, but the point was moot, as Zeus interrupted with a loud cough, glaring at his children.

‘If we could get back on topic,’ he ground out, ‘Why was the girl hidden, Apollo?’

‘It was out of necessity,’ Apollo immediately argued in a sober voice. ‘Hecate’s Blessed were making a mess and I prophesised that Herakles would stop it. She couldn’t do that while being hounded by monsters. We separated the wizards from demigods for a reason.’

Faint hums and grumbles of agreement came from throughout the room, before Zeus asked, ‘And? That can’t be it, boy.’

Apollo pursed his lips tightly, but didn’t answer. Outside, Hera could hear the rumble of thunder and Zeus looked apocalyptic—but then the last Goddess spoke from her place beside Apollo.

‘How old are you?’

Hera craned her neck to look at her properly, stalling for time. She asked—even though the bow and arrow and the silver eyes might have been clues themselves—‘Who are you?’

‘I am Artemis,’ Artemis said, ‘Goddess of the Hunt, the Moon, Maidens and Childbirth and somehow…you…’ Artemis seemed lost, almost dazed. She left her throne and approached Hera, losing height and aging until she looked Hera’s contemporary, if not older. As the moments passed, she seemed to age further.

Up close, the similarities were startling. Not only did they share the same hair colour—if not volume—but their jaws were the same, as well as their lips and nose. The eyes were the only clear difference between them past Hera’s lions mane and Artemis’ tight braid.

Slowly, Artemis reached out and laid a hand on Hera’s forehead. Still kneeling, it was the only thing stopping Hera from falling over as the touch lit them both up from the inside, moonlight glowing from every visible piece of skin. Power flowed through her, searching and filling her. It felt like the rush of the fight and the quiet under her invisibility cloak, not at all like her magic and everything like she was meant to be.

‘We are kin,’ murmured Artemis, before drawing her hand away. Hera blinked away the sudden tears in her eyes, noticing how the glow didn’t stop until Artemis stepped further away. Hera could see the lost look again, along with something new—hesitation. Fear.

‘She was born of mortals,’ Apollo informed the six present Olympians, ‘and a great part of Artemis’ divine essence. Stolen long ago and released by Pandora come again. A demigod by another name.’

‘Mine,’ muttered Artemis, fists clenching.

‘Preposterous!’ Zeus spluttered, exclaiming, ‘Impossible!’

‘It is not, Father.’ She cut in, silver eyes bright. Hera’s mother turned to face him, standing in front of the witch like a shield. ‘If any harm a single hair on her head, I know not what I might do in retaliation.’

‘Not like anyone could,’ said Dionysus. Hera paled. He mocked, ‘Thanatos would be very upset.’

‘Ever heard of keeping stuff to yourself?’ Hera said under her breath, finally standing again on her own two feet. She didn’t look at Artemis when the Goddess turned to face her. That didn’t mean she took to being ignored.

‘What did Dionysus mean by that comment? What hold does Thanatos have upon you?’

Hera hesitated, before meeting her mother’s gaze again. It felt unreal, but then again, a lot of the demigod world still did. Something inside her chest unravelled as she realised she could finally tell the truth of her situation. These weren’t her friends, who had grown up and got on with their lives, had babies and moved on.

She felt Death at her shoulder when she decided, his hand resting on the small of her back. Artemis’ eyes flickered to the left, to where none had ever pinpointed him, before returning her gaze to Hera. In the end, she summoned the Cloak first.

The shimmery fabric settled around her shoulders, weightless. When Death pulled the hood over her head, Artemis became frantic.

‘No. Come back. Herakles-’

Hera pulled the hood back, turning briefly to glare at Thanatos. The only sign the God was unhappy with being thwarted was the twitch of his golden eyes and Hera ignored it with ease as she spoke again.

‘I stopped aging when I was seventeen. I collected three magical artefacts called the Deathly Hallows that once belonged to Death—to Thanatos,’ Hera corrected herself.

‘And when you did,’ he followed on, ‘I decided you were worthy. My Champion. My friend.’

‘I still haven’t forgiven you,’ Hera reminded him, refusing to ignore her hurt. She asked, ‘Did you know?’

‘That you were the daughter of Artemis? No,’ said Thanatos. His wings shifted uneasily. ‘Perhaps I would have cared more if you had been any less interesting already.’

Zeus became irate soon enough and interrogated Thanatos, ignoring Hera completely as the God of Death recited his own perspective on the age-old events that, in the Wizarding World, were known as the Tale of Three Brothers. While they argued, she slipped backwards, wanting a semblance of privacy as Artemis looked on her again.

‘You are my child,’ she said, like a mantra. ‘You are my child.’

‘It’s a girl,’ joked Hera, which made her mother smile.

‘As if you’d be anything else. I am not a patron of men or boys. You _must_ spend time with my Hunters and I,’ she began to gush, suddenly less afraid and more excited. As Hera watched, she became a younger woman—not quite teenage, but not much older than how Hera looked, either. ‘I would enjoy your presence immensely amongst them.’

‘What are the Hunters?’ Hera asked, listening intently as Artemis bragged about her group of semi-immortal teenage superheroes, which is how Hera took it, at least. She sounded proud of them and slowly, Hera became eager to meet them as well.

Near the end of their conversation, Artemis embraced her, unable to stop herself. Hera hugged back, tears pricking her eyes. She had a living mother. While her family in the Wizarding World would always love her, they would fade in time and it was something Hera had grappled with for nearly ten years now. It was hard being twenty-eight and still looking like a teenager.

Like Apollo, Artemis was warm and together, the white moonglow became brighter than before. Hera didn’t know how to make it go away when they parted, the light barely dimming, though a secret part of her didn’t want it to. It was a sign she belonged.

‘Here,’ Artemis said, cupping her hands and then opening them to give her a silver band, like a tiara. Hera took it, peering at the tiny engravings along the edges showing the moon cycles as Artemis spoke more. ‘I’ll have the forges make you another one more suited to your position, enchanted and suchly, but this is made of my essence. It will do for now.’

Feeling grateful, Hera said, ‘Thank-you,’ before putting it on. With her wild hair it was a little hard, but Artemis interfered with her attempts and brushed her hair back with all ten fingers. A moment later, Hera felt it smooth out into a braid that ran down her back, something only Lavender had ever managed. The band slipped on easily, afterwards.

‘There,’ the Goddess said, proud. ‘And you are no demigod, so don’t let anyone call you one.’

‘Apollo-’

Artemis shook her head, indicating Hera not to speak. She kept her mouth closed.

‘Return to Camp Half-Blood for now. I will arrange a visit with my Hunters in the autumn-time, so you may meet them all. I particularly wish for you to meet Zoe, my lieutenant.’

‘I’m already looking forwards to it, Artemis,’ said Hera, only to be jabbed in the ribs. ‘Ow!’

‘I’m your mother,’ scolded Artemis, but her eyes gleamed. ‘Would you like to try again?’

Hera barely refrained from rolling her eyes. ‘Mum, then.’ Her face softened and she quietly revelled in it. She had a mother. ‘Mum.’

‘Herakles.’

From Artemis’ expression, she felt the exact same way.


End file.
